


Luck Is What You Make It

by starlillie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Felix Felicis, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minor Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlillie/pseuds/starlillie
Summary: Liquid Luck. Warning! May cause giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence.Draco should really read the labels on these things.





	Luck Is What You Make It

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to K who helped me gather my thoughts before I really started writing this story and beta read it once I'd finished! And thanks also to my other beta, I, who did a final read over and gave me some extra encouragement!

“Over there, my boy.”

Professor Slughorn was pointing out a shelf about a foot above his head and just a hair to the left. Draco lifted his wand and carefully levitated the glass jars, setting them gently next to the powdered moonstone.

“What’s next?” he asked.

“I do think we’re done here. I’ll leave these out for my first years tomorrow morning,” Slughorn said, gathering a box of bat spleens and several shrivelfigs into his arms. “And I dare say you’ve done enough. Your NEWTs are just around the corner, you know. All your efforts should be spent revising. I’m not telling you something you don’t already know when I say you’ll need perfect scores.”

He certainly wasn’t telling Draco something he didn’t already know. If he couldn’t have deduced it for himself, he’d also heard it from three other teachers and the Headmistress. They were looking out for him, which was more than he deserved and, frankly, more than any of them had ever done for him in the past. He wondered if, perhaps, they felt sorry for him. They shouldn’t. He’d made it to the end of the two worst years of his life with far more than he thought he would and far more than nearly everyone else. 

Repeating his final year had been a good choice. And, truly, it was his only choice if he wished to pass his NEWTs. As Slughorn and so many others had told him, his NEWTs were absolutely crucial if he were to do anything with his life aside from wasting away in the Manor, like his parents were currently doing. It simply was not an option.

Slughorn was watching him closely, his expression uncharacteristically somber. Draco curled his lip and turned away. He preferred not to be noticed these days. It was ironic, really. He’d spent the first decade and a half of his life practically gagging for attention at every opportunity. He got it, sometimes, but hardly ever from whom he wanted it most. And now that he had the attention of nearly every magical being in Britain, he wanted nothing to do with it. Even if it was fame rather than infamy, he didn’t think he’d want it.

“Perhaps...” Slughorn started, and then trailed off. Draco didn’t turn back to face him, but instead grabbed his school bag and pretended Slughorn hadn’t said anything at all. He didn’t want to hear it. Not with that tone. And not with the expression that had been on his face just a moment ago.

“Thank you for allowing me to assist you, Professor. You’re right. I should be in the library going over my Arithmancy tables.” Without a glance backwards, Draco strode out of the supply room and back through the potions classroom. He passed between the work tables as quickly as he could, detouring to avoid a suspicious looking liquid that was bubbling languidly on the dungeon floor. 

He was almost able to ignore Slughorn calling after him. But he couldn’t ignore the heavy hand that fell on his left shoulder just as he reached the corridor. How Slughorn had caught up to him without Apparating, Draco had no idea, and he wasn’t about to ask.

“Draco, my dear boy,” Slughorn said between heavy breaths, “your head must have already been caught up in your Arithmancy charts. I’ve been shouting after you for going on half a minute. I have something for you if you’d just give me a moment.”

Draco’s curiosity won out, despite himself. 

Slughorn drew his wand from the inside of his waistcoat and pointed it toward the potion stained ceiling. “ _Accio_.” 

They waited, a minute or longer. Slughorn must have summoned whatever it was from his office. Six fucking floors above them. Draco heard a whizzing noise and reached his hand out just in time to snatch a small vial out of the air. Maybe he was mediocre next to Potter, but Draco had been Seeker for his house team just the same. 

He brought the vial up to eye level. The potion within it was clear gold in color, vaguely familiar though he couldn’t quite place it. His next thought was to sniff it, but he tamped down that urge just as quickly as it came. Any child given his first Easy Brew Potions Kit knew better than to stick his nose in an unknown potion. Sometimes, one didn’t need to ingest a potion for it to take effect; the fumes were enough.

Instead, he handed the vial to Slughorn.

“Oh, no,” Slughorn said, pushing the potion back to Draco. “It’s all yours.”

“And what, exactly, is it that’s all mine?” Draco asked dubiously.

“You don’t remember?” Slughorn was smiling now and twirling the end of his mustache around one of his fingers. “Felix Felicis. Liquid luck.”

Draco clenched his fist around the vial. He did remember now. From sixth year. Potter had won a vial of it for himself during their first Advanced Potions lesson.

“I had just that bit left over from the demonstration with my sixth years. I, ah, had the contest quite late this year. Wasn’t able to brew it in time for my first lesson.” Slughorn busied himself with straightening his robes and then cleared his throat as he looked up to meet Draco’s eyes. “It will last you only a couple of hours, and you can’t take it for your NEWTs, of course, but I’m sure you’ll find a use for it. I’ve taken it twice myself in the past and both times resulted in the perfect day.”

“Thank you.” And Draco meant it. He slid the vial into his pocket. 

“It’s the least I can do for all the help you’ve given me this term. I don’t think I’ve ever been so organized,” Slughorn said jovially, his huge belly shaking with a rumbling laugh. “And I do hope to see you at my end of term party! I’d intended to only invite a select few seventh and eighth years - yourself among them - but the Headmistress, bless her, thought it best if I included all those who will be leaving Hogwarts this year. I can’t say I agree with her, but I understand the sentiment.”

He clapped Draco on the back before heading back to the supply room. Draco hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder. He really should be in the library. He had mountains of Arithmancy notes to pore over before the following week.

***

The doors to the Great Hall swung open. 

Draco wandered out into the Entrance Hall in a daze, along with a few dozen other seventh and eighth year students. The written portion of their Transfiguration NEWT was their very last. In Draco’s estimation, _Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests_ didn’t accurately describe the experience. _Disgustingly Awful Magical Nuisances_ maybe. Or _Fantastically Unjust Cruel Killers_. Not as creative as he could be, admittedly, but the acronym was on the mark. Draco had been muttering a constant stream of _fuck, fuck, fuck_ to himself all week. He was sure he wasn’t the only one.

From across the Hall, he spotted a head of wild black hair. Potter had already made it to the marble staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Maybe he was planning to throw his notes off Gryffindor Tower. Draco had an appointment with the Black Lake and the giant squid for his. He didn’t want to see or speak or think about the wretched things until he got in his exam results, and even that may be too soon.

Nearly at the top of of the staircase, Potter turned his head just so and caught Draco watching him. The animosity had drained out of them both after the war. They were tired. Potter held Draco’s gaze for only a second or two and then carried on up the staircase and down the first floor corridor.

Draco pushed his way through the students who were still lingering in the Hall. Chatting about his exam was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t able to relax until he’d made it to the passage which led down to the dungeons. The only people here this time of day were other Slytherins. Blaise and Theo were just ahead of him, neither of them talking. Draco followed, just a few steps behind them, all the way down to the space of wall which led to the Slytherin Common Room.

“ _Reparations_ ,” Blaise announced to the wall.

Theo scoffed and crinkled his nose in distaste as the wall opened up before them.

“Still refuse to say it?” asked Blaise, his voice dripping with amusement. 

“No,” Theo snarled. “And I don’t understand how you can just smile and take it like it isn’t humiliating.”

Draco shouldered between them and into the Common Room. “I can because I’m fucking tired and I want to get to my fucking dorm,” he said between clenched teeth.

“I suppose you didn’t like _atonement_ last month, either?” Blaise’s voice carried from out in the corridor. Draco heard Theo stomping into the Common Room behind him and Blaise howling with laughter.

Draco flopped on his bed the moment he entered his dormitory room. He threw his school bag to the floor and flicked his wand to shut the heavy green bed hangings. He was free to do whatever he wanted. No classes, no revision, no exams. And what he wanted was to nap for a couple of hours before dinner. Unfortunately, his dorm mates weren’t too keen on that idea.

“How’d it go?” asked Greg, who hadn’t qualified for NEWT Transfiguration, as Blaise and Theo noisily entered the room. Draco caught himself listening for another voice, another set of footsteps; even after a year, he sometimes forgot there were only four of them now.

“It went well,” Blaise responded. “Although, I think my practical exam was better.”

Greg, or possibly Theo, must have said something else, but Draco tuned them out. He turned on his side and pulled a pillow over his head. He barely had his eyes closed half a minute before he heard the heavy oak door slam hard enough to rattle his four poster bed. That’d be Theo, he supposed. Draco was dramatic - he knew that about himself - but at least his angst was more of the quiet, mopey variety.

He heard Blaise’s deep voice from just outside his bed hangings. “Are you coming, Draco? We’re going to have a little celebration in the common room. Pansy has some firewhisky she’s been hoarding since Easter hols. Seventh and eighth years only. Nothing raucous. We’re not Gryffindors.”

“Is Theo going?”

“No, I think I’ve run him off,” Blaise said, poking his head inside the curtains. “Don’t tell him I’ve said, but I’m the one who’s been suggesting those passwords to the Heads. I was thinking _unity_ or _cooperation_ next. What do you think?”

Draco rolled his eyes and sat up against the headboard. “I think I’m glad you’ve found someone else to pick on, Blaise, but leave me alone.”

“Suit yourself. If you’ve any luck, there’ll be a finger or two of Ogden’s Old left should you change your mind.” Blaise winked and pulled the hangings shut again. Draco heard his footsteps echo across the stone floor and then the door shut again, gently this time.

Luck. That reminded him. He reached out to his nightstand, wand in hand, and whispered the counter-jinx. (One could never be too careful with their possessions.) The top drawer sprang open. Draco rooted around for a moment before his fingers closed around the cool glass of a small vial. 

_Felix Felicis._

He hadn’t thought of it much since Slughorn had given it to him. It wasn’t like it could have been immediately useful. He would have been thrown out immediately if he’d used it for his NEWTs. Some sort of anti-cheat enchantments the proctors cast on the testing areas. Madam Marchbanks had alluded to them back before he sat his OWLs when his father had invited her for dinner at the Manor. Not that she’d stayed to the end. She’d apparently been under the impression that she was attending a benefit.

Now, though, there was nothing stopping him. He held the vial a few inches above his face, the torch light catching it and casting a golden glow on the dungeon ceiling. He didn’t have any specific purpose in mind, but fuck it. When could he not use a few hours of guaranteed luck? His planned nap could be postponed.

Before allowing himself to think better of it, he uncorked the vial and chugged the contents. The effect was slow, a tingling that started in his chest and spread outward through his extremities. The feeling of it was foreign, but not completely unfamiliar. He hadn’t felt confident in years, and whatever he’d had of it before was born from a perfect storm of ignorance and arrogance. This was… different. He felt calm. In control. And there was some part of himself buried deep within him that was breaking to the surface. It was whispering in his ear and pulling him in the right direction.

And the right direction happened to be the common room at the moment. He jumped out of bed and strode out through the boys’ dormitory corridor. Blaise’s look of surprise was enough to bring the old smirk back to Draco’s face.

“Decided to join us then, did you?” Blaise called, recovering quickly. “Pansy and I had put on a bet, you see. Though, I suppose we’ve both lost.” He turned to Pansy with a sickly sweet smile. “Apologies. I’ll be keeping my galleons.”

Pansy sniffed and rolled her eyes. “I doubt I’d have been able to part you from them regardless. You’d think someone rolling in as much gold as you wouldn’t be so stingy.”

“You know how the rich stay rich?”

“By repeatedly marrying wealthy, elderly bachelors who suspiciously pass shortly thereafter?” simpered Pansy.

“By counting every knut,” Blaise responded coldly.

“I mean no offense to your mother, Blaise. I plan to do the very same.” Pansy took a swig of firewhisky right from the bottle and then held it out to Draco. He waved her off.

It didn’t seem quite the celebration Blaise had made it out to be. Blaise and Pansy were lounging on an antique settee near the huge arched windows. The light reflecting off the lake water cast murky green shadows across their faces. Greg was crammed into a wingback chair in the corner - his usual seat. There was an empty, matching chair next to him. Other than the three of them, and now Draco, the common room was deserted.

“Sit down then, Draco. You can keep me from strangling her,” Blaise said.

“No, I don’t think I will. Sit, that is.” Draco felt like he was waiting for something. He just didn’t know what.

Not a moment later, they heard shouting and several thudding sounds coming from the direction of the girls dormitories. Millie stormed into the common room in a whirl of black robes, Daphne on her heels. 

“You!” she roared, pointing to Pansy. Millie’s face was tear-streaked and splotchy red.

“What have I done?” Pansy asked, eyes gone wide.

“How many times have I told you? You left the damn door open again!”

“So?” Pansy relaxed and brought the bottle of firewhisky back to her lips.

Millie lunged for her then. She was held back only by Daphne - a significant feat as Millie had a few inches and several stone on her - who’d caught Millie by the arm. Pansy sloshed the firewhisky all down her front and backed so far up the settee that she nearly fell off the side.

“What is wrong with you?!” Pansy shrieked.

“You let my cat escape! Again!” Millie yelled back. And then she promptly fell into the nearest chair and broke down into tears. “It took me n-nearly a fortnight to f-find him last time,” she said between sobs. “I don’t have that kind of t-time now. It’s barely a week before we leave! And i-if I can’t find him?”

“No, no, Millie,” Daphne said softly, kneeling down and stroking Millie’s hair out of her face. “We’ll find him. We’ll all help you, won’t we?” Daphne looked up and held the rest of them with an icy glare.

“Of course,” Draco said solemnly. He would have agreed even if Felix wasn’t whispering in his ear, telling him to grasp this opportunity. Probably.

The others nodded as well. Except for Pansy, who spelled away the whisky on her robes and scoffed. “No, I fucking won’t help you find that Gryffindor cat. Good riddance.”

Daphne flipped her off and helped Millie to her feet.

“He’s just young. And adventurous,” Millie said, wiping her eyes. “Like his namesake.”

Potter the cat had been a hot topic of conversation in the Slytherin common room all year. Millie had gotten him over the summer and she’d named him after the Boy Who Fucking Lived Twice because it was ‘timely’. And even Draco thought the name was fitting. It was just a scrawny little thing with lots of straggly black fur and wide green eyes when Millie introduced it to them all in September. It grew into its name even more, having made several escape attempts to explore the castle throughout the school year. Last time Millie had found it wondering around near the Divination Tower, if Draco recalled correctly.

“Well, I haven’t seen him here. Have you?” Draco gestured to Blaise and Greg. They shook their heads. “Maybe he followed Theo out when he left?”

“Brilliant,” Millie muttered, eyes welling up again.

“No, it’s fine!” Daphne reassured her. “We’ll go out to look for him. The _five_ of us.” Here, she flipped Pansy off again.

“Alright then. I suppose we’ll have to celebrate the end of exams another time,” Blaise said, standing up from the settee. Greg joined him. The five of them headed out, leaving Pansy alone and scowling behind them. 

They started by surveying the dungeons, the lowest and most disused ones first. The torches down this far hadn’t been lit in ages and weren’t to be persuaded to light now. This castle was so fickle; Draco had thought the Manor was difficult before he’d come here. They had to walk through the dark passages with only the light from the tips of their wands to guide them. Not the best of conditions to be looking for a black cat.

“Draco, you really think Potter went down here?” Blaise asked quietly so that no one else could hear. He eyed the plant life growing through the cracks in the stone walls distastefully.

“No… I’ve got a good feeling about it, though.”

Blaise blinked several times in quick succession. “Excuse me?” Draco chose not to elaborate and charged ahead to keep pace with Greg and the girls.

“Do you think we ought to split up?” Daphne addressed the group once they’d gone a little further.

“No.” Draco - _Felix_ \- was firm on that.

“You honestly think one of us will get lost?” Daphne asked doubtfully before catching sight of Greg and seeming to reconsider. “Well... We could go two and three?”

“We shouldn’t split up,” Draco reiterated.

“You’ve heard the man!” Blaise’s voice echoed through the narrow corridor.

“Shh, you’ll scare Potter away if he’s down here,” Millie chastised him.

“Then what should we do to lure him to us? Call his name? That’s an awkward thing to go around yelling.”

Millie frowned. “I suppose… I wasn’t really thinking of the logistics of it when I named him.”

“We can always have Draco be the one to shout ‘Potter’ all through the castle,” Daphne said. “It’s habit for him. No one will think twice.”

If Blaise hadn’t scared off the cat earlier, then the fits of laughter resounding through the dungeons now would do it. In any scenario other than _recently consumed luck potion_ , Draco would be furious that they were all having a good laugh at his expense. But as it was, he smiled to himself. He even called out a few _Potter!_ s much to the amusement and renewed giggles of his housemates.

Draco slowed to a stop when he turned the corner and saw two figures come out of one of the old classrooms. As they got closer, he saw that it was Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood. That Lovegood was an odd sort. Draco did his best not to make fun these days, but she often made it difficult. She was walking around with her eyes closed, it appeared, hands blindly reaching out in front of her. Weasley was following just a step behind her with a bemused expression.

Weasley caught sight of Draco and the others and put a hand on Lovegood’s shoulder to bring her to a halt.

“We don’t have to stop, Ginny,” Lovegood said. Her voice was almost always soft and melodious. “I’m sure they’ll let us by. They’re not river trolls.”

Weasley muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘I don’t know about that’ and then glowered up at them. “I thought I heard someone yelling. I was hoping I wasn’t going batty, but this isn’t much better. What are you lot looking for Harry for?”

“We’re not,” Millie, Daphne, Greg, and Blaise said at the same time.

Weasley raised an eyebrow and said, looking at Draco, “I see. And that would be why you were calling out his name?”

“We’re looking for a cat who goes by the name Potter,” Daphne said, stepping forward and drawing Weasley’s attention away from Draco.

“Yes, black fur, green eyes, tendency to wander off and find trouble if left to his own devices...” Blaise added, winking.

Weasley snorted. “Well, you must see how I got confused. The resemblance is uncanny.” Both Blaise and Weasley broke into matching smiles. 

Millie looked displeased at this exchange - too much banter and not enough searching for her beloved pet. Daphne looked incredulous. Greg looked lost, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them like he thought he’d missed something. Lovegood, on the other hand, looked serene as ever.

“Are you sure you aren’t looking for Harry?” She still had her eyes closed, but if they were open, she’d have been staring directly at Draco.

“Do you need help?” Weasley asked loudly before Draco could come up with a response to Lovegood. It was just as well. “Looking for Potter the cat, I mean? Sightless Sahrlingers are apparently excellent at finding things.”

“Beg pardon? A sightless what?” Blaise tilted his head, as if he truly cared for an answer.

“Sightless Sahrlinger. You’ll have to ask Luna. I’ve only just learnt about them myself.” Weasley flicked her long ginger hair over her shoulder.

“Mmh, yes,” Lovegood said dreamily. She’d still been ‘looking’ at Draco, but now she turned to Millie. “I’ve been following one for quite a while now. You can only see them with your eyes closed. Ginny was ever so kind to come with me. This one has been trying to lead us to something… I thought it was the jumper I lost last week, but perhaps it’s your cat!” 

She reached out to Millie excitedly. Or rather, she tried. She ended up stepping on Greg’s foot and knocking Daphne in the face.

“I’m just here to hold her stuff and make sure she doesn’t run into any walls,” Weasley said, as Blaise stepped in to steady Lovegood and steer her to Millie.

“Maybe I’ll join the two of you?” Blaise asked Weasley. “I know Potter - the cat Potter, after all. He might be willing to trust me.”

“Brilliant.” Draco clapped his hands together, interrupting whatever Weasley was going to say next. “Blaise, you go with them. The rest of us will start heading up.”

“But I thought you didn’t want us to split up?” Greg’s heavy brows were furrowed, the middle of his forehead a long crease. Daphne looked like she wanted to say something about it as well.

Draco waved them off. Blaise needed to stay here. He took the lead back down the corridor and towards the nearest stairwell. He didn’t check to make sure the others were following him; he knew they would. 

From the far end of the corridor, Blaise’s voice bounced back to him and then faded once Draco turned the corner. “Weasley, I heard you’ve been scouted by the Harpies. Are you th…”

Draco made his way quickly through the labyrinth of dungeons. The girls had to break into a light jog to keep up. He passed back by the entrance to the Slytherin common room and down the potions corridor. When they were just a floor below the ground level of the castle, he came to a stop by a suit of armor standing guard of an alcove. He tapped the suit’s chestpiece twice with his wand and it sprang aside, revealing a narrow archway. Draco flashed a smirk over his shoulder and ducked through.

The archway led to a brightly lit corridor lined with portraits of food. The basement left one with a completely different impression than the dungeons when, really, the only difference was better lighting and a couple of windows.

“The kitchens?” Daphne asked once she’d stepped into the corridor.

“I suppose Potter could have made it here. He did break into Pansy’s snack drawer that time.” Millie rubbed her chin thoughtfully as she cast an engorgement charm on the archway to allow Greg to come through.

“That’s probably why she hates him,” Draco pointed out helpfully.

“Not like she didn’t deserve it,” Milie scoffed. “She never shares with us. We always share with her, even Tracey does.”

“Since we’re here…” Greg said once he joined them. Millie flicked her wand and the archway shrunk back to its normal size. “Why don’t we take a break for tea?”

Draco nodded. “I agree.”

“What?” Millie squawked. “You’re supposed to be helping find my cat, and so far all we’ve done is wander around parts of the castle that haven’t been used since the Bloody Baron was alive and watch Blaise make eyes at Ginny Weasley!”

“Come on, Millie,” Daphne said, locating the staircase. She shot them a withering glance over her shoulder. “Let’s go ahead and check the upper levels. Leave them to it.” 

When they’d left, Greg looked over at Draco. “Maybe we should go with them…?” 

“No. Tea is what we need right now.” Draco stepped up to the portrait of fruit that he knew to be the entrance for the kitchens. “Do you remember which of these we’re supposed to tickle? The apple?”

“The pear.”

“Right.” He reached up and crooked his finger over the pear. Nothing happened.

“It’s got certain ticklish spots and they shift around sometimes. Try near the stem,” Greg said, stepping behind Draco. Draco moved his finger up and the pear squirmed and began to giggle, shifting into a door handle.

As they entered through the portrait hole, the oldest house elf Draco had ever seen approached them, muttering under his breath. Draco had never met a house elf who looked so displeased at the sight of humans. He wondered where all the others had gone that this was the only one left to help them.

“And what would Sirs like?” the house elf asked as if he’d like nothing more than to take one of the brass pans hanging on the wall behind him and strike them over the head.

“You’re the Black family elf, right?” Draco asked. He could have said Potter’s elf - because he was sure this was, indeed, Kreacher - but his gut told him that was not best way to go about this conversation.

Kreacher narrowed his eyes, but didn’t answer. He continued to narrow his eyes as he sat Draco and Greg down at a small table, and he frowned at them as he went to fetch a tea kettle and a plate of petit fours.

Draco waited until Kreacher came back and then said, “I’m related to the Blacks on my mother’s side. My mother - Narcissa.”

That, at least, seemed to warrant some attention. Kreacher turned his bulbous, bloodshot eyes to Draco, not caring in the slightest that he was missing the teacup entirely and spilling hot tea on Greg’s lap. (Although, Greg cared, if his sudden high pitched shriek was anything to go by.) Kreacher then poured Draco’s tea perfectly and pretended he didn’t hear Greg trying to catch his attention.

“Miss Cissy’s son?” Kreacher croaked after several minutes of staring. Greg had already forgotten the tea incident and was stuffing his mouth with petit fours, two at a time. 

Draco nodded. 

“And what does Miss Cissy’s son want from Kreacher?”

“I’m looking for Potter.”

“And what does Miss Cissy’s son want from Kreacher’s Master?”

Greg started to interrupt saying it was cat Potter not human Potter they were looking for, but Draco held up a hand to shush him. There was no need to make that distinction. In fact, his instinct was urging him not to.

“I need to ask him something,” Draco said to Kreacher after a moment.

Kreacher sniffed and snatched away the nearly empty plate of cakes. “Kreacher may have seen his Master in the Great Hall… Kreacher was sent there to clean after the nasty students took their tests. They’s leaving parchment scraps and ink stains and snapped quills for poor Kreacher to pick up.”

The Great Hall. That’s where he needed to be. Draco stood up from his chair at once and gave Kreacher his most polished smile. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you. I will tell Mother I saw you. She’s mentioned so often how fond of you she was during her childhood.” A lie, of course, but Kreacher puffed his chest proudly and held his head high.

Draco practically skipped out of the kitchens, leaving Greg behind to persuade Kreacher to bring him more cakes. Draco very much doubted he’d make any progress with that. As he closed the portrait behind him, Draco saw Kreacher snapping his fingers to vanish what was left of the tea even as Greg was bringing his teacup to his lips. 

Draco took the steps two at a time and burst into the Entrance Hall, startling two Hufflepuffs. He strode swiftly towards the Great Hall and eased one of the doors open. There was just one person - the head examiner, Madam Marchbanks. Even though Potter wasn’t here, Felix was nudging him, telling him this was right.

“Young Mr Malfoy,” said Marchbanks, peering at him from underneath a heavily wrinkled brow. Draco wasn’t sure who was older, Kreacher or Madam Marchbanks. She tottered toward him, somewhat spry for someone so ancient. “It’s a pleasure to see you outside of testing.”

“Is it?”

He didn’t think he’d ever be so bold without the potion. To say exactly what he thought? Directly to someone so influential? It went against every Slytherin instinct he had. But he felt, he heard a voice whispering in his ear that his usual affected drawl would get him nowhere he wanted to go.

And it worked.

Marchbanks let loose a throaty cackle and clutched her walking stick. “You are absolutely right! Let’s cut the pleasantries, shall we?” She studied him for a moment, appraising. She must have been satisfied with her conclusion because she continued, “The Headmistress told me you were different this year. I think I’ll have to agree with her there. I proctored her exams too, I’ll have you know. Brilliant, that Minerva. If you’re even half that, you’ve done well.”

“And do you think I’ve done half that?” asked Draco curiously.

“It isn’t for me to say just yet. You’ll have to wait for your results over the summer.” She pointed her wand at the enchanted ceiling and Draco felt a chill go down his spine. She must have removed the anti-cheat protections. Marchbanks held out an arm to Draco and he took it, leading her out of the Great Hall. As they walked, she leaned in conspiratorially. “Between just the two of us, I think you did more than half. Far better than your OWLs. You’ve worked hard, I trust?”

He nodded.

“It shows. All of it. We all deserve a chance to change.”

A lot of things about Draco had changed - his life, his family, his values, his ambitions. He had been forced to come to several realizations about himself over the past few years and although he hadn’t really been the instigator of any of them, they kept coming. And in a way, he didn’t think he was so much changing as becoming more himself.

They parted once they reached the Entrance Hall. The other proctors were waiting for Madam Marchbanks by the front doors. 

“Take care of yourself, Mr Malfoy.” 

Draco inclined his head. When he turned around, he spotted Millie and Daphne coming down the marble staircase.

“Done with your snack are you, Draco?” called Daphne, her tone positively venomous.

He was about to respond when he saw - 

“ _Potter!_ ”

Millie and Daphne whirled around, expecting to see the cat slinking behind them. Instead, they saw Potter - the person - looking very startled. He looked from Draco to the girls, then behind himself and back to Draco.

“...Yeah?” he said hesitantly.

The Entrance Hall was starting to fill up with students heading to dinner. They were coming down the staircase from the upper floors and into the castle from the grounds. Greg had made it up from the Kitchens. Blaise, Weasley, and Lovegood were stepping out of the door to the dungeons. It was like they’d gone back in time; the entire school’s attention was on them, Malfoy and Potter. They were all stopped, watching Draco’s every movement, like they thought there was going to be some sort of showdown. He didn’t know why they would think so. There hadn’t been anything like that all year, nor was there going to be during the week or so they had left.

Potter was still looking at him, his mouth turned down into a puzzled frown. Draco didn’t know what he was going to say until the words came spilling from his lips.

“Potter,” his voice rang through the Hall, “do you want to go to the end of term party with me?”

Silence. Draco could feel eyes boring into him from all directions. Millie and Daphne, caught between himself and Potter on the staircase, were looking back and forth between them, jaws dropped. Madam Marchbanks and the other proctors apparently hadn’t left quite yet, as Draco could see them gaping out of the corner of his eye. 

Potter’s face was flushed, his eyes wide and wild.

“No.” 

He said it very loudly, way too loudly in the hushed Entrance Hall. Potter almost shouted it, in fact. 

Draco nodded his head, gaze dropping to his feet. And then he saw it. The cat. It was scurrying between the gawking students towards the corridor that led to the ground floor classrooms. He shot off after it, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd.

***

The day after The Incident, as he referred to it in his head, Draco found himself idly walking through the castle. Partly, because this was one of the last times he’d get the chance. He’d spent most of his time at Hogwarts feigning distaste for the place. Some of that disdain was real. Sometimes - and even still - a lot of it was real. But he’d also felt a sense of giddy, childish delight that he seldom outwardly expressed every time he got his first glimpse of the castle as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station or every time he glanced up at the enchanted ceiling or found a new hidden passageway. That excitement had dulled, of course, after last year and the Battle, but every now and then it would return to him.

The other reason he was wandering around on his own was because he never wanted to open his mouth and speak to another person again. He wondered if, perhaps, Slughorn had given him a potion from a bad batch. It wouldn’t surprise him. The man was notoriously tight. He probably sold the good stuff and gave Draco a vial from a cauldron he’d let stew too long. Slughorn and his ‘perfect day’. Fuck him.

Felix Felicis had worn off soon after he’d caught Potter the cat, and with it, his sense of purpose. Then the embarrassment came seeping in, hitting him in waves through dinner and in the common room and even in his own dormitory. He’d had to suffer through several humiliating renditions of The Incident between the time of its occurrence and when he was finally able to curl up in his bed with a good silencing charm laced in his bed curtains. Blaise was really having far too much fun with the whole thing. He’d participated in three mock versions of it himself - with Daphne, who’d nearly died laughing, with Theo, who’d told him to piss off, and with Ginny Weasley, who’d said yes. For some unfathomable and completely unfair reason, Draco’s guaranteed luck had ended up being Blaise’s.

It seemed the castle itself wasn’t going to let him have peace, either. Every now and then, since the end of sixth year, the castle got a bit smart with him. Doors would pretend they weren’t doors, staircases would move away just as he was about to step on them, statues that had no business being anywhere near him would suddenly appear in his path. Draco figured the castle still held somewhat of a grudge against him for letting Death Eaters in and the unfortunate events which followed. He wasn’t particularly happy with himself about that either, but try telling a doorknob that when you’re ten minutes late for class.

He could deal with all that, really, but this was a little much. Now, the _air_ in the castle was attacking him.

Draco grunted as his back hit the wall of a shallow alcove hidden behind a tapestry. He was about to stutter out his usual apology to the air, the walls, the tapestry, and Merlin knows what else when Potter ripped off his invisibility cloak.

Honestly, he’d rather it been the air.

“The fuck was that, Malfoy?”

The fuck, indeed.

“Shove off, Potter,” Draco said, trying to turn away. He didn’t want to see anyone at the moment, but he’d been avoiding Potter most of all.

Potter stepped back from him, but only a bit. There wasn’t much room in the alcove. They were still close enough that Draco could feel the warmth from Potter’s breath. Draco brought his arms across his chest. Potter’s eyes on him burned.

“Glad you’re not pretending like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Potter said. His glasses were slipping down his nose and his hair was as wild as ever, but his gaze was fixed on Draco.

Draco couldn’t stand it anymore; he looked away, closing his eyes. He could feel the heat pooling in his cheeks and the tops of his ears. He’d much prefer to be back in the common room with Blaise teasing him.

He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Look at me,” Potter said, rubbing soothing circles near Draco’s collarbone with his thumb. His voice had lost its edge. “Why?”

Draco didn’t answer. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer or if Potter would accept it if he told the truth. 

Potter scowled again. “I thought we… Why would you - ? In front of everyone? Is - Was this all a joke to you?”

It felt a lot like Draco had broken something, like he’d ruined it. Whatever it had been. They hadn’t done much. It was hardly a relationship. Really. A little bit of frotting and a blowjob. It was nothing. The Patronus lessons, their talks, their furtive meetings all over the castle in little alcoves like this one, the lopsided smile that Draco knew was meant for him, all of it. It didn’t matter.

Draco felt his eyes begin to sting. Fuck Felix Felicis. It had all felt right. At the time, everything felt like it was something he needed to do, even asking Potter out in front of everyone. Even Potter rejecting him felt like it was meant to happen. Maybe his luck was to end this before it got any further. Before Potter changed his mind. Before they had to face the world outside Hogwarts.

Potter dropped his hand and sighed. 

“You could have just talked to me if you wanted to make this into something more serious. I mean, preferably not in front of half the school, but you know.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t considered it. Us.”

Draco nearly cricked his neck, he looked up so fast. “You have?”

“Yeah,” Potter said, rubbing the back of his head and ruffling his hair further. He smiled and drew closer to Draco. The fronts of their robes were touching and Potter placed a hand just above Draco’s hip. “But. This isn’t a one way thing. You can’t… do that. What our relationship is and how we present ourselves and how we go forward are things that have to be decided by both of us. That’s the only way it will work.”

Draco nodded, pressing closer still. Potter’s green eyes were blazing, the intensity burning Draco from the inside out in the best possible way.

“I said no,” he continued slowly, “not because I don’t want to go to Slughorn’s party with you. You just caught me by surprise.”

His words felt a lot like hope.

“So,” Draco drawled, smirking, “does this mean you _will_ go to the party with me?”

Draco only caught a flash of a goofy, crooked grin before Potter closed what little space was left between them. Potter’s lips were warm and familiar, and when Draco breathed in through his nose he could smell quidditch and crisp summer air and the citrus of Potter’s shampoo. He brought his hands up to wrap around Potter’s back and dig in his hair just as Potter pulled the invisibility cloak over them both and opened his mouth to the kiss. They were too tall for the cloak to cover them both fully - their feet and a few inches of their calves were still visible - but Draco found that he couldn’t care less. 

He wanted Potter impossibly closer, he wanted nothing between them. His grip tightened in the back of Potter’s robes, fisting the fabric. Potter broke away for a moment and kissed the corner of Draco’s mouth, the sharp jut of his jaw, and then back to his lips. It was softer and yet somehow more than any of the others they’d shared. Draco smiled into the kiss and he could feel Potter smiling, too.

***

Draco made his way slowly from the dungeons to the sixth floor. He was dressed in some of his best robes, custom made just for him. His classmates were in their finest as well. He’d seen several couples on his way up to Slughorn’s office: Granger and Weasley tucked close to one another, Blaise and his Weasley arm in arm and radiating happiness, Daphne and some Hufflepuff in their year - Susan something or other - already dancing and twirling in each other’s arms as they ascended the staircases.

Harry was waiting for him in an empty classroom close enough that Draco could hear the music from the party. He was looking out a window, hands in the pockets of his red dress robes. Draco preferred the green Harry wore to the Yule Ball more. They matched the green of his eyes so well. But the red. It was easy to picture what Harry would look like in his Auror robes. And that was a good thought. A very good thought.

“Have I kept you long?” Draco asked, standing in the threshold and leaning against the door.

Harry turned and his whole face lit up. “Not at all.”

They walked down the corridor side by side, shoulders knocking together.

“So you still haven’t told me,” Harry said. He grabbed Draco’s hand in his own and quirked a brow. “What was with the thing in the Entrance Hall?”

“Oh.” Draco stopped. They were just outside the party. He rubbed his jaw with his free hand. “I may have taken a dose of Felix Felicis which prompted me to do some very ill-advised things.”

Harry was laughing at him, doubled over and holding his stomach. Draco snatched his hand away.

“It’s not that funny,” he hissed. “It was supposed to be perfect. Everything was supposed to go my way. But instead I got rejected.”

“Yeah, well. It’s a potion. Not a miracle.” Harry winked, still laughing. “But you know, luck isn’t always so straightforward.”

Draco hadn’t thought of it like that. His feelings had been aired in front of everyone before he’d been ready; he’d embarrassed himself and Harry. He was… not happy about that. But would he and Harry be here - together - now if it weren’t for Felix Felicis? Would they have have taken the steps to make their relationship serious? He couldn’t say for certain, but Draco wasn’t sure he would have had the nerve. And Harry had enough nerve for the both of them, but he wouldn’t have known what Draco wanted.

Suddenly, the doors to Slughorn’s office were thrown open and pulled Draco away from his thoughts. A couple of seventh year boys stumbled out with a pilfered bottle of mead in hand. When Draco turned back, Harry had straightened up and was watching him fondly. Draco rolled his eyes. Harry’s hand settled on his lower back as they stepped in through the doors together.

Draco supposed that Felix knew what he was doing, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank the mods of HD Consent Fest for putting this together and making me think about consent in a way I probably wouldn't have done on my own. So, in this fic, consent revolves around feelings. It's about when and where and why and to whom those feelings are revealed.


End file.
